The last caught me off guard—not because it wasn’t true, I knew it was—but because of his tone when he said it, overly off-hand and hurried. But his grin was as smooth as ever as he vanished into the crowd.
“Scoundrel,” I muttered under my breath. I straightened my shoulders, passed Grant’s glass to a servant, and began to wander through the crowd looking for Rosser.
Eyes lingered on me. Nods, smiles and greetings came my way, but no circles of conversation opened, and the pirate hunter did not appear. My confidence began to degrade. By the time I reached the dais where the musicians played, I felt both absurd and unwelcome.
“You’re looking very fine tonight.”
I turned to find Rosser standing next to the carved pillars that marked the way into the salons, where more light and chatter spilled across a smooth marble hallway. To my shock, Rosser wore a full naval uniform over his broad shoulders, complete with bicorn hat, rows of pips at his collar and a saber at the hip. His cheeks were shaved too, smooth and clean over a well-formed jaw. It made him look different, leaner, younger. But it was him.
Musicians began to play a slow, swelling waltz.
“Mr. Rosser?” I stared him up and down uneasily. “I wasn’t aware you were commissioned. At least, not in this way.”
Rosser stared at me for the briefest of instants, then a smile crept up his right cheek. There was a dimple there, one I’d never noticed before—likely because of the beard.
He parted his lips to say something coy, but he caught himself.
“I fear you have mistaken me for my brother,” he said with a grudging laugh and a low bow. “Samuel is my twin. My name is Benedict, First Lieutenant of Her Majesty’s Defiance.”
It was my turn to stare. “Samuel Rosser is your twin?”
“The very same.” Benedict straightened and closed the distance between us, stopping a respectful pace away. “I gather he never mentioned me?”
“No.” I peered at the man, perplexed. They looked so alike, from the shape of their lips to the slightly haunted look behind their eyes. It was uncanny.
I drained my glass and, though my cheeks were already warm, snagged another from a passing tray.
Benedict faced the ballroom as guests began to clear the dance floor and the music grew more pronounced. “That does not surprise me, given my station. And how he lost his commission.”
I looked at him sideways. “Pardon?”
Benedict tapped at his collar, with its pips. “He was Her Majesty’s, same as I.”
Unease prickled across my shoulders. It wasn’t just from the word ‘was’ or the implication of an unfortunate event in Samuel’s past. It stemmed from the dawning understanding that the man before me was properly in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. The Navy that hung any pirates who crossed their path.
What if Benedict Rosser recognized Demery? What if he realized who, and what, I was? The Navy needed Stormsingers too.
I drained my second glass and stared at the berries at the bottom, as if they could answer my questions.
Benedict still spoke. “But there was a rather… distasteful affair, you see. When it came out, Samuel was forced to resign.”
That snapped my attention back to the lieutenant. “Oh?”
Benedict cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “I ought not speak of it.”
“Yes, you should,” I protested. “Your brother’s been unfortunately involved in my life, Mr. Rosser. Tell me what you know.”
“Unfortunately involved?” Something opaque darted through Benedict’s eyes, then cleared into a deep concern. “Whatever do you mean by that? Has he been untoward with you?”
My unease compounded with a blush. “Untoward? No.”
Benedict’s eyes flicked to the dance floor, where couples were gathering for another slow waltz. “Come, dance with me.”
I started to protest, but he’d already plucked my glass from my hands and set it on the pillar’s square base. With a gentle touch to my back and a self-assured smile, he swept me out onto the dance floor.
My heart rose into my throat, but there was no instinct to pull back, no true displeasure at his insistence. That should have struck me as odd, but I was too distracted by his words and the handsomeness of his face. I let him take my hand and my waist, and we joined the waltz.
Music. Whirling skirts. I momentarily lost myself in them and the task of remembering my feet—the wine did not help—but I soon settled into the rhythm. I’d spoken the truth when I told Demery my father had wanted me to marry up, and my governess had been a serviceable dancing instructor.
“My brother,” Benedict began, “was always a troubled boy. Prone to outbursts, no matter how he battled them. We went to the Naval Academy together and served as midshipmen side by side. But when we took our lieutenant’s exams, we parted ways. It was hard for the both of us. We had never been apart before, you see. Twins. Brothers. But we were men by then, with our own paths.”
Benedict’s hand tightened on my side, guiding me deeper into the dancers. He’d gotten closer now too—instinctive, perhaps, given he shared such personal history. His chest pressed into mine and I felt each movement of his strong legs against my skirts as we turned, stepped, turned. There was danger to that closeness, but I couldn’t convince myself to pull away, even though I knew I should. So why didn’t I? My lack of willpower felt like inebriation, but I hadn’t drunk enough for that.
Benedict’s gaze sharpened on my face and my ponderings fled. He smiled, curious and polite. I blushed, bemused. And we spun on.
“Without me beside him, Sam… strayed.” Tightness entered Benedict’s voice and I thought he might not go on, then he said in a rush, “He had a child by his captain’s wife.”
My hands slackened. I would have stopped dancing altogether except for Benedict’s oddly compelling touch. Our hips brushed closer. “He what?”
Benedict looked down at me, discomfort and regret written across his face. He had all Samuel’s appeal, but I saw a depth to Benedict that Samuel didn’t have—emotion, raw, and urgent to the point that I might have thought it studied, if there hadn’t been such honesty in his eyes. He had a uniform too and, it was becoming increasingly clear, a good name.
“If Sam has inserted himself into your life, however that may be—and I would dearly love to know—you must understand who he is,” Benedict said. He looked away, gaze passing over my shoulder. “And what he has done. Though it pains me to be the one to tell you.”
“I’m sorry too.” My hands, one fit into his, the other resting on his bicep, softened. His fingers responded, large and warm, wrapping a little more around me. And even though Samuel was the topic of our discussion, my thoughts dwelled more and more on Benedict. “It must have been difficult, seeing your brother fall.”
Another web of emotions spun across Benedict’s features and resolved into a regretful smile. “It was. But enough of me. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name, Ms.?”
“Mary,” I said, unable to resist smiling back. “Mary… Grey.” My father’s name, not my mother’s.
Benedict’s eyes traveled over my clothing with a hint of curiosity, as if trying to match my garb to my name and accent. There was a good deal of appreciation there too, though, and I was fully aware of the places his gaze lingered. “Grey. I am unfamiliar with your family. Your accent is a touch… midland?”